


laughter on a flour-full battlefield

by TheBlackWook



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: 'tis just an excuse to mention Gary Neville in glasses and how ridiculously hot that makes him, Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off, M/M, One Shot, This could be more but for now that's just that, gbbo au, guest staring Mercotte, it's up to you I guess, t for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25618492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackWook/pseuds/TheBlackWook
Summary: In fact, the Bake Off production had asked them together. Their constant verbal jousting on Sky had apparently made it far beyond the football sphere and was considered“great fun to watch with an unadulterated pleasure”as per the email.
Relationships: Jamie Carragher & Gary Neville, Jamie Carragher/Gary Neville
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	laughter on a flour-full battlefield

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the lovely milleseptcent for our discussion of Bake Off and the french version, the diabolical Mercotte and how our champions would fare against her challenges. And many thanks for allowing me that specific Gary Neville in glasses thirst.

“What the-”

For all the jokes he had received throughout his life, Jamie Carragher was not quite daft, thank you very much. Yet, as he squinted at the recipe in his hands, written in a small, old-fashioned handwriting, he felt as clueless as ever. Put him on a football pitch, no problem. Put him in a suit and in front of cameras, sure. Hell, put him on a stage screaming songs at the top of his lungs with a beer in hand, he had done worse. But right at this instant, he really was reconsidering his life choices and what had prompted him to accept being part of the new Bake Off season.

He was not half-bad in a kitchen, he could make pastas and a couple dishes he had made to help his mother back in the days, and the show had always been great fun to watch when he had run out of obscure football games. But he would be lying if he said that the premise of measuring up against Gary Fucking Neville in a baking contest was not the real thrill that pushed him to say yes. 

Not that Neville had already accepted when he had been approached by the production. In fact, they had been asked together. Their constant verbal jousting on Sky had apparently made it far beyond the football sphere and was considered _“great fun to watch with an unadulterated pleasure”_ as per the email. They had been rather surprised but even more skeptical at the proposal. Neville, especially. 

“What do you mean, baking? I barely use my kitchen.” He had huffed.

“Good of you to acknowledge that. First step towards recovery as they say.” Jamie had teased him.

He had received nothing but Gary’s elbow hitting his ribs for all his good work, a hit he had almost grown accustomed to by now, having worked with the pundit for some years. It wasn’t that Jamie had been ecstatic because he was probably just as ignorant about pastries and baking techniques as his colleague was. But the mere idea of Mister Manc McManc being almost offended he’d been considered for the competition had only convinced Jamie that they needed to be on that show. Just for the sake of showing off the basic kitchen skills he had and beat Neville’s overcooked sweet pasties while he’d blow the judges away with his take on a Wet Nelly with strawberry icing to make the dessert Liverpool red. 

Not that Jamie knew how to make icing or how that worked but the thought alone was nice. 

“So what, you’re gonna refuse?”

“Why would I go, I’m going to be ridiculous!”

“Well, sure when you’ll come up against me, there’ll be no contest.”

“Don’t be silly, you wouldn’t even know the difference between a spoon and a spatula.”

“Sounds like you’re scared, Neville.”

“I’m NOT-” Gary had pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Jamie knew he had won. “You know what, Carragher ? Bring it the fuck on.”

This is how they had ended up behind the wooden cooking station, apron wrapped around their waist and ready to crack eggs and mould dough- a fight to death on a flour-full battlefield to prove who was the better baker.

Jamie stared at the piece of paper again, frowning at the words and the measurements: what the fuck were kilograms ? Where were the pounds and limbs ? If that old devilish woman thought he would remember the equivalences he had barely learnt once in year 8, she was sorely mistaken. 

And, was he beginning to become blind or-

“Psst, Gary.” He called way louder than he thought he was.

“Why are you whispering?” Neville answered, keeping his voice low regardless of the question he had just asked the Scouser.

“I don’t know. That old witch gives me the creeps. ”

“What- Is the great Jamie Carragher scared of a little old french lady ?”

“Am not.”

“Definitely are.”

Jamie’s cheeks burnt and he clenched his jaw. He was about to protest like an immature schoolboy when the woman’s horrible french accent chirped above them and tuted.

“No cheating! Everybody to their station.” She said, eying both Neville and Carragher very slowly to make her point. 

Count on the BBC to have the brilliant idea to invite one of the french presenter to have a challenge of her own in this version for no other reason than that the production was just a bunch of sadists who thrived on watching them suffer.

Jamie sighed and looked at the offending paper again. He had learnt a few tricks before the show and he had listened to advices from the judges in the first episodes but he had no idea what he was supposed to do. 

So he tried again with his first plan and crouched down pretending to look at his sponge cake in the oven.

“Psst, Neville.”

The black-haired man turnt to him and raised an eyebrow in confusion but before he could say anything Jamie frantically gestured for him to crouch down as well, shielding themselves from the wrath of the invited judge. 

“What?” Gary asked, irritated. “I don’t have time loitering, James, I have a competition to win.”

“To win? You barely made it out last week!”

Neville gave him two pointed fingers before he went on, indignant.

“It’s not my fault if the oven is malfunctioning!”

“Malfunctioning?” Jamie asked in disbelief. “Can’t you admit for once in your life you misjudged a situation?”

This was not at all what Jamie had in mind when he had hid behind his station. He did not have time to argue, as fun as winding Neville up was.

“Okay listen,” he said, cutting one of Neville’s long impassioned tirade about his being right “I just want to stay on for another week. Don’t you want that?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then, we have to help one another. Because that devil of a woman left out instructions and ingredients, on purpose! And by the look of it, we’re going home by the end of the day.”

“Speak for yourself.” Gary huffed. “And anyway, I’m not a cheat.”

Jamie grinned like a cat, raising a teasing eyebrow towards his colleague.

“So what? You’re too self-righteous to have a glimpse of what your neighbour’s written?”

“Yes!”

“Come on, not even in maths?”

Neville opened his mouth but could not find himself able to reply and simply closed it again, looking defeated and constipated at the same time, to Jamie’s greatest delight.

“I knew it !” 

The older man crouching on the other side of the two alleys of cooking stations crossed his arms and frowned, looking like a five year old to Jamie’s eyes. 

A beat. 

And suddenly a strong smell of burnt reached them and they only had time to stand up to see Gary’s black chocolate boil in numerous big bubbles until the pan itself looked positively brown. 

“ _Fuck’s sake!_ ” Gary muttered helplessly.

Jamie checked his preparations and grabbed the recipe in his hand before he crouched back down again. His ex mortal enemy imitated him.

“So?” the Scouser asked.

“..... Fine.” 

Jamie smiled, without really knowing why. Was it because Neville was failing miserably despite having gloated he had worked on the basics of baking ahead of filming? Was it because he admitted he needed help? Or was it because Gary needed his help, and no one else’s. Was it-

He interrupted his trail of thought. He caught himself thinking far too much about Gary Neville as of late and his tight black shirts, and his neatly wrapped apron, and his glasses that made him ridiculously fine, and- 

Neville - bless him for once! - chuckled behind his station, bringing Jamie back to the present.

“Oi! What’s so funny, Gaz?”

“Look at us, two middle-aged men hiding like schoolboys from a strict french judge.” He explained, chuckling again.

He looked so carefree in these briefs seconds, his smile making his eyes glimmer, that Jamie couldn’t help but chuckle too at their situation. It was sort of reassuring in a way, not being alone in that weird adventure he still wasn’t exactly sure why he said yes to.


End file.
